Stupid Little Things
by AnonymousCrazyFangirl
Summary: After a terrible car crash erases the last five years of his life, Alexander Hamilton becomes a walking disaster. And, as he tries to recover his memory with help of his friends, he discovers that during those five years he "met the love of his life": nothing more and nothing less than his greatest enemy, Thomas Jefferson. (A.K.A The Jamilton Amnesia AU no one asked for.)
1. Prologue

He can hear Alex's heart as it beats beneath the sound of crashing cars, the sirens pour into every street surrounding them, the lights flashing everywhere. He holds his breath as he sees Hamilton's face, stained with spikes of blood. Alex eyes are closed, but he looks peaceful, like he just fell asleep. And he's trapped, trapped by the beauty of Alexander's expression. His sight fades a little, he can't quite focus, everything is blurry and shots of pain go through his spine. He struggles to breath, every breath coming out ragged. His lungs burn, and his throat is sore. He can hear screams at the distance, and hopes that they don't wake Alex up.

What is happening?

What _happened_?

 ** _Bump, bump._**

The sound is still present, he can hear it. Alexander's heartbeat.

 ** _Bump, bump._**

It's faint, but it's there.

 ** _Bump, bump._**

He can hear just _one_ beat.

 ** _Bump, bump._**

 _His._

He passes out.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 2**

 _Song: No Light, No Light –Florence + The Machine_

The first thing Alexander Hamilton is aware of when he wakes up is that he's not in his apartment. The smell of sanitizing and sickness impregnates the air, making him scrunch up his nose in disgust. The brightness of the light reflected on the walls cause him a headache, and his blurred sight doesn't not help at all. He gives up trying to see after several attempts to focus his eyes with no results. Instead, Hamilton tries to move his limbs, finding himself unable to do so. He looks down at his arms, lying flat at his sides. And groans, associating the immobility of his arm to the fact that it is broken. Alexander turns his head to the side, regretting it almost immediately. His pounding headache sharpens with the movement, blurring his sight more –if that's even possible.

He hears the sound of the door opening before turning his head to the front again. A man in a white coat enters his field of vision, he slowly approaches the bead, and starts doing something behind Hamilton's bead. He glances up, pain traveling through his sore neck, and sees the machines that he is plugged into. The man – a doctor, apparently—smiles at him, but still doesn't talk. Alexander tries to ask what happened, desperate to know, but his throat is sore and hurting. God bless the man, who seems to notice his struggle and helps him out by handing him a glass of water with a straw. He sips carefully, realizing just how thirsty he is.

When his done drinking he sees how the man takes it away, and places it in a table beside the bed.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Hamilton?" the man asks, still managing the beeping machines surrounding Hamilton's bed. Then he stands back, apparently done with the check.

"I –," Alexander's voice is so thick and dry he flinches at it. He clears his throat, and accidentally makes a sudden movement which earns him a new wave of pain, aggravating his headache. "I feel like someone ran over me."

"Yeah, you got pretty beat up, young man," says the doctor, flipping through a bunch of papers in a clip board.

Hamilton wonders if he got in a fight, maybe he went out and just drank a little too much? He wouldn't be surprised if he did. The doctor looks at him, like he knows what happened and has the answer on the tip of his tongue. Alexander waits for him to say it, but just watches as the doctor gets back to the papers while approaching the couch.

He moves the pillow and blanket that where currently occupying the space in the tiny couch and sits. "Do you feel any pain? Your head hurts?" he inquires, looking once again at Alexander like holding all the answers.

"Yes," Alexander grits out, almost losing control of his patience. _If his knows something, why doesn't he tell me?_ His pounding headache reappears, reminding him its presence by sending a little wave of pain, making him dizzy. "Ugh, uh, my head hurts, and the, uh, the light–"

"Oh sure," the doctor stands up, leaving his clip board in the couch, and reaches behind Alexander's bead, flicking the switching that dimes the intensity of the lights, "better?"

Alex immediately feels the headache toning down a bit, and tries to get a glance of the doctor's notes on the clip board. _Fuck, where are my glasses when I need them?_ "Thank you, that's so much better…"

The man smiles and returns to his place in the couch.

"Uh…what happened?" Alexander tries to keep his frustration at bay. "Where am I, sir?"

"You're in a hospital, Mr. Hamilton."

 _No shit, Sherlock._

"You were involved in a pretty bad accident a few weeks ago." The doctor continues, clearly ignoring Alexander's glare. "You fell in a coma, and you just woke up, boy."

 _What._

Alexander stares at the ceiling. _An accident?_ He tries to remember, ignoring the headache, which just intensifies with the effort. _Coma? Weeks?_ A blurry memory makes its way through the fog of pain clouding his mind. He remembers going home after his work in the café, tired after a long day at college. He had spent the rest of his day at home, playing video games with Joh–

"John!" He almost yells, startling the doctor. John was the last person he'd seen! And his friends? Lafayette, Hercules, they must know something! "Where is he? Where are my friends?"

"Not now, visiting hours ended almost two hours ago," his smile is empathic, "maybe tomorrow. Right now I have a few more questions."

Hamilton nods.

"What's your full name, young man?"

He frowns, _isn't the doctor supposed to know that already?_ "Um, Alexander Hamilton."

The doctor hums, apparently approving his answer, "How old are you?"

If he recalls correctly, he is nineteen. He just finished his second semester at Kings College, "I'm nineteen."

The doctor looks at him with his piercing eyes, sighting, and Alexander feels uncomfortable, _why does he keep staring at me?_ The man starts writing something down, a deep frown in his face. Alex can feel something's not right, he could feel it since he woke up, but he's a little afraid to ask. He grips on the blanket.

"Okay, what year?"

"2012."

The doctor nods, "Okay, thank you Alexander. I'm Dr. Franklin, I'm in charge of you."

"Thank you, Doctor."

Dr. Franklin smiles. He stands up and, after checking Alex's vitals once again, leaves the room.

Alexander glances at the window, glad that the man is gone now. He looks outside, the night sky is covered in clouds, making it almost impossible to make out the outline of the city's buildings. He can see lights through the fogged window, but they look more like tiny blurry spots than anything. Alexander hadn't noticed the weather before, and he really hopes that it doesn't rain. He checks the clock hanging on the wall. 1:37 A. M. He counts, three hours since the end of visiting hours. Seven and a half until the start.

He needs to talk to John, or Hercules, or Lafayette, but as he looks around, he can't spot where his things are. He notices his not wearing his clothes, wishing that they are fine. He can't afford to lose a set of clothes. Not when his money is wearing thin, and he probably just lost his job at the café. And his phone, oh God, if something happened to it…

Alexander sights, the boredom drowns him after minutes of watching the blurry lights dancing in the window, and the clouds that threaten to pour their contents on New York City, so he decides to distract himself. Hamilton takes the remote control and turns on the TV, thanking God that the thing was within his reach. He's so tired that he doesn't notice the TV is a 2016 edition or that he is not familiar with none of the shows running at the time. He falls asleep just as the new season of an old TV show's main theme fills the silence reigning room.

The horrible sound of a thunder bolts him awake. His frantic breathing matching the beeping of the monitor beside the bed. He's so shaken up, he doesn't notice the warmth in his hand, or the arms that surround him, giving him something to ground himself before a panic attack takes over his body and mind. Alexander closes his eyes and snuggles in the warmth. And just like that, he freezes.

He's sure the person beside him feels it, because instead of pulling away, they pull him more into the embrace. A low humming soothes him, and Alexander, as the slut he is for cuddles, relaxes more into it. The smell of coconut and vanilla filling his nose trills.

He can hear the drops of water splashing against the window, the sound of the thunders are muffled, but the light of the lightings light up the entire room. By the presence of this person, he guesses that the sun already came up, but apparently it's been blocked by the huge clouds in the sky. He looks at the persons face and is greeted by a mat of dark curls. The factions of their face gives away that the person currently lying beside him is a man. The man's skin is dark and his eyes are closed. Alexander would say that he's asleep but the soft humming carries on. As Hamilton keeps staring at him a strange feeling settles in his gut.

He knows him, he can say as much, but he doesn't remember form where, or who he is. Hamilton knows that he's staring for way too long, but can't stop. His mind is trying to figure out who the man is, and won't stop. Eventually, the man opens his eyes and smiles at him in a way that – he can just describe it as _loving_. Alexander's suspicions are proved. Something's _wrong_. _Really wrong._

"Good morning _,"_ the man's voice in incredibly soft. The man lets go of the embrace and rubs Alexander's cheek with his hand. "How are you feeling?"

Alexander is lost at words, awkwardly staring at the man. He frowns at Hamilton, the hand on his cheek moves to his mouth, "Alex, are you okay?"

Alex hesitates, "No. Um, c-could you please, stop? Please?"

"Yes, of course," the man seems a little dejected, but smiles nonetheless. The man drops his hand, but keeps his eyes at Alex, "Is everything okay? Is there something I can do to make it better?"

The moment breaks when Dr. Franklin enters the room. He looks at Alexander's companion and stiffens. "Mr. Jefferson, can you please wait outside? I'll talk to you in a minute."

The name rings a bell, and instantaneously, he is filled with so much anger and hatred towards him and _holy shit_. Alexander wants to escape, and it seems like Jefferson notices this, as he slowly starts disentangling himself from their embrace, "Sure."

Alexander feels the loss of warmth as Jefferson steps aside and, with a tiny smile at him, leaves the room silently. Alex tries to put the awkward situation on the back of his mind and grabs the sheets, turning to the doctor as he takes the same place of the couch like earlier that morning.

"We made a few exams," the doctor starts, while writing something on the clip board, "And you are good and ready to leave this place by the end of the week—"

Alexander feels the "but…" way before the doctor finishes the sentence.

"But, we found that you have memory loss, Mr. Hamilton. It's not permanent, it'll slowly come back, don't worry."

He stopped hearing after "memory loss".

"I'm afraid that you lost—"

 _No._

"—five years of memory."

 _ **No.**_

He wants to scream, but instead, he laughs. He genuinely _laughs_ , at the top of his lungs. From the corner of his eye he watches how Jefferson, who was pacing outside the room, turns to look at him, astonishment showing in his face. Alexander chokes on his laughter and hugs himself tightly, nails digging on his skin. He can feel the tears in his cheeks. His casted arm hurts. _So much._

The door opens, and suddenly Jefferson is at his side, clutching his hand. He turns to the doctor sharply, "what happened?"

Alexander ignores them as the doctor explains the situation. He feels Jefferson's grip on his hand tighten. He turns to him, and Jefferson is crying. Fucking crying. And he can't look. He can't stand it. Jefferson looks like he is going to break down, but instead the man looks at him, and the one breaking down is Alexander. He clutches to Jefferson and he can't believe his being comforted by his foe. His life is falling apart and Thomas _fucking_ Jefferson is the one beside him.

Alexander is so overwhelmed. He can't breathe, and the tears falling down his face seem endless. His headache returns at full force. He can feel the panic attack drowning him.

 _He's sinking_.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter**

The wine bottle slips from Jefferson's trembling hand, falling to the floor with a loud crack and shattering in a million pieces. The sound of the crystal breaking echoes through the silence, like a thunder in a quiet night. The shreds of glass are scattered around him.

Just like his heart.

Jefferson lets his body slip to the floor with a quiet thud. He sits there, watching the crystal fragments that surround him. The sunlight, pouring through the gaps between the curtains, reflects on the shreds, lighting up the dark kitchen. The wine is pouring from the broken bottle to the floor. It looks so much like blood.

It makes Jefferson nauseous.

He tries to stand, supporting his weight on his knees and arms. He feels so heavy, all his limbs are sore because of staying in the same position in the wooden floor of the kitchen for too long. Jefferson extends his arm, gently taking one of the crystalline fragments. The cold crystal slices his hand, but Jefferson ignores the pain and continues to pick up the sharp pieces, standing on his knees, as his blood mingles with the spilled wine.

He's drunk. In pain, grief and expensive alcohol. It is pathetic, isn't it? To mourn someone who is alive and breathing? But his mind and heart say otherwise. The throbbing pain is so _real_ and _present_ in his chest, he can't ignore it. He's physically and emptionally ill. He lost his lover, surely not to death, but to oblivion. _He should have paid attention_. It's his fault.

It's his fault that Alexander got in the car with him.

It's his fault that Alexander was lying in that hospital bead, with an induced coma because the pain was too much for his body to bear. He stayed there, unable to breathe for his own. Unable to open his eyes, to talk. To live.

It's his fault that Alexander lost his memory.

It's his fault that his lover is gone.

 _It's his fault._

 _ **His fault.**_

He tries to contain his pain, but a sob makes its way out of his throat, and he finds himself unable to stop the shrieking sobs that emerge from his core. And the tears, that were threatening to slip through his closed eye lids, are now falling like rivers across his cheeks.

He stares absently at the green walls of his kitchen, the soft color screaming _Alexander, Alexander, Alexander_. He brings his hands to his face, covering his eyes so he can't see the color of the walls. He tries to block everything around him, the sounds, the smells, his sight, everything. He tries really hard, but the taste of blood in his mouth never leaves. Everything is so _clear_ around him.

He _screams._

Jefferson feels the department door open and the sound of frantic steps. He can tell that the person who irrupted is looking desperately for something or, in this case, for someone. He doesn't process the sound of his name resonating through the apartment, but the loud gasp behind him is unmistakable. Thomas feels a pair of arms pulling him. He gives in, and tries to stand. Letting go of his phone. He didn't know that he was clutching the device. He turns the screen and sees Madison's ID. A finished call.

Thomas looks up and meets his best friend's worried face. The tender man embraces him silently, and Jefferson snuggles into James' chest. And lets the river flow.

* * *

"Look at that," Alex immediately recognizes the voice, turning to the door just in time to see Hercules opening the room's door with a smile plastered on his face, "the sleeping beauty decided to wake up! I wonder _who_ gave you the kiss of True Love!"

Alexander laughs halfheartedly, immediately thinking of Jefferson. The memory of Jefferson's crying face is carved in his mind, and a pang of worry makes his way into his chest. He tries to brush off the feeling and smiles at his friend. However, Alex's smile wavers when he sees Lafayette crossing the threshold, a smile in his lips and a smiling Laurens trailing behind him with a duffel bag in his hands. Lafayette looks just like Thomas, except for his hairstyle. Lafayette pulls his hair on a pigtail, sometimes a man bun or a braid, while Jefferson lets his curly hair wild and – _why does he even know this?_

"Mon petit lion, ça va?" Alex's change of humor doesn't go unnoticed by Lafayette, who approaches his bed, looking worriedly at Hamilton, and takes his arm carefully. The Frenchman sits in the chair beside the bed –which wasn't there before, and Alex suspects that a nurse entered at some point without him noticing –with Hamilton's hand between his own. "You seem quite sad."

"Je vais bien." It's not true, but Hamilton is stupid enough to lie at his friends. "I'm just tired, there's nothing to worry about."

They know is a lie. He sees it in their faces. They know him perfectly. Lafayette sighs but smiles afterwards, letting the lie slide. Alexander is grateful, but feels bad about it. Still, he is too afraid of how they might react if he tells them about what happened yesterday, besides, Hamilton supposes that they are unaware of his…condition. Alexander is not ready to tell them, he can't even grasp his head around the fact that he can't remember anything about the past five years. And he's definitely not ready to see his friends' faces after the revelation. It was more than enough when Jefferson became aware of it –and they're not even friends, _they hate each other_.

"Alex, there's a lot to worry about," Lafayette smiles warmly at him. Hercules and John nod behind him. John leaves the duffel on the couch and gives a thumbs up to Lafayette, who doesn't notice because he's still looking at Alexander, "but we are here with you."

Hamilton smiles, and asks, "What is that?"

"Your change of clothes, mon ami."

"But, aren't I supposed to stay here until the end of the week?" Hamilton asks with amusement.

"Yeah, but like Mexican people say, 'más vale prevenir, que lamentar.'" John winks at him.

"Muchas gracias, guys." Alexander says warmly at them.

Laurens approaches the hospital bed excitedly, and Hamilton can see how badly his friend wants to hug him. Hamilton takes Laurens' arm and pulls him towards him, feeling warm and giddy. He snuggles John's neck and smiles, the other man embracing him with fervor.

When the guy lets him go, Hamilton looks carefully at his friends, taking in their presence. Alex notices that they seem older, and they look different from how he remembers them. Lafayette left his hair a little longer and he's taller, while Hercules is almost the same height he was five years ago his hair shorter and covered with a bandana. John's freckled face is even more freckled than before, and he grew up a fair pair of inches. Although, their smiles are the same.

Hercules leans on the wall and looks mischievously at him, "Did you saw Jefferson today?" at Alexander's affirmation he smiles widely. "That's great, Alex, Thomas was really worried for you, you know? He came every day to visit you."

"Oh, mon cher, always looking for you," Lafayette grins proudly. "Sometimes he even slept here, and still went to work the next day."

Alex is dumbfounded. Why would Jefferson come to visit him? Were they friends? Okay, that was just –just plain outrageous. He and Jefferson, as _friends_? Jefferson worrying over _him_?

"I'm actually surprised that he's not here," Laurens says, and takes a seat on the large –and ugly, Hamilton notices –couch.

"He, uh, he left in the morning. He said something about having to go to work." Alexander hesitates at first, but ends up lying for the second time that day.

Hercules also sits in the couch, taking place beside John, "Also, make sure to call your father. He's so worried about you."

"Yeah, it was really difficult to convince him to go to work today!" John groans. "Damn, he has a whole college to worry about. But still, he said he was passing by in the evening."

 _A whole college?_

"Well," Lafayette says, a bit harsh, "maybe Principal Washington would be _happier_ after seeing his son."

And okay. He didn't see that coming. Principal Washington? His father finally acquired that position? He probably felt so proud about his father the day he took his place as Principal in Kings College. But the sadness downs on him, and the awareness that he doesn't remember the day fills his heart, making it clench painfully.

"Yeah dude, Washington is worried sick about you," Lafayette says calmly, "after what happened with Martha." Lafayette sighs, looking absently. "It's been rough for him, seeing you in a hospital bed, unable to wake up…"

Hamilton swallows the knot in his throat. What happened to his mother? He turns to see Lafayette worriedly. Is she okay? She _has_ to be okay. Maybe she's sick? She always gets sick around this time of the year. Because, well, is December, who doesn't get sick around this time of the year? Hamilton looks at the calendar hanging from the wall. July. It's the middle of July.

"What happened to Martha?" He asks, fear expanding through his veins.

His friends stare at him, their eyes wide open.

"Alex…," Lafayette speaks carefully to him, like a child who's about to reveal a secret. He looks at Alexander like he's seeing a boy, not a man. Like he might break at any second. "You…don't remember what happened?"

Shit. Oh, _shit_. _No, no, no_. He shakes his head slowly, and he can see the exact millisecond the implications of the affirmation he just made dawns on his friends. Their faces are a mix of surprise and sadness.

John stands up, and walks slowly towards him. Standing in front of his bed, Laurens looks at him with glazed eyes, "Alex, she –she passed away months ago."

 _Oh._

"Alex –"

Alexander is aware that the beeping of the monitor that calculates his heart rate going way too fast, "Don't worry, just –I just wasn't expecting it." He swallows, his throat aching painfully. The throbbing headache is back. "I think –I think I should rest."

Lafayette looks hurt at the sudden dismissal, but nods nonetheless. He kisses Alexander on the cheek and stands up from his seat. Hercules also follows and hugs Alex briefly. John just kisses him on the cheek, telling him that if he needs anything, they're just one call away.

And then, they leave the room silently, closing the door behind them.

Alex cries himself to sleep.

* * *

Once outside the room Lafayette's ringtone breaks the uncomfortable silence between the three friends. John is sitting on the floor, not a single tear on his face, while Hercules' is a crying mess. None of them expected it. Yes, maybe a few broken bones, a bruised rib, not _this_. _Definitely not this._

Lafayette silently retrieves his phone from his pocket, closing his eyes he answers the call.

"Gilbert." Madison's agitated voice greets him. Lafayette is suddenly on alert.

"James, is everything okay?" _Oh God, please have mercy on us._

"No, Thomas…"

 _No._ Lafayette covers his mouth, "Mon Deiu, is he okay?! What happened?!"

Hercules and Laurens turn to him abruptly, their faces contortioned in worry. Their whole attention are centered on him, but his is on the man in the other side of the line.

"He is now," Madison sighs soundly on the other side of the line. Lafayette can hear the faint sound of his movements. He suspects Madison is cooking something, by the sound of the stove. "Today is a bad day."

"How bad?"

"I –I found him drunk, lying on the kitchen floor surrounded by broken pieces of glass." He hears Madison swallow, and the faint sound of a quiet sob. "He had cuts on his hands, he –he"

"Shh, it's okay James. Lafayette closes his eyes, in an attempt to ignore the image of Thomas forming in his mind. "Did he took his medicines?" He hears John suck in breath from his place on the floor.

"I don't know, Gil."

"Okay, I'll be there in a few minutes."

"I'll wait here, then."

* * *

The Schuyler sisters come to visit him in the evening, already aware of Hamilton's state. Even though Alexander doesn't remember them, he is pleased with their visit. Elizabeth caught Alexander's attention. The girl seem really woeful, she has to leave the room for a few moments. And when she comes back inside, Alexander doesn't miss the red color of her eyes. Alexander feels so helpless.

The whole evening is spent in a really nice way. Alexander is the one making the questions, so he doesn't end up overwhelmed by all the information in one sit, and his friends are eager to answer. He was caught up on Peggy's constant jokes, Eliza's shyness, and Angelica's stories from when they met. The girls light up his day and he thanks every God that they didn't mention Jefferson in the whole evening, because, honestly, it is a matter he doesn't want to deal at the moment –or any moment, at all. Their presence last until late that night, leaving Alexander with a warm feeling.


	4. Chapter 3

The wine bottle slips from Jefferson's trembling hand, falling to the floor with a loud crack and shattering in a million pieces. The sound of the crystal breaking echoes through the silence, like a thunder in a quiet night. The shreds of glass are scattered around him.

Just like his heart.

Jefferson lets his body slip to the floor with a quiet thud. He sits there, watching the crystal fragments that surround him. The sunlight, pouring through the gaps between the curtains, reflects on the shreds, lighting up the dark kitchen. The wine is pouring from the broken bottle to the floor. It looks so much like blood.

It makes Jefferson nauseous.

He tries to stand, supporting his weight on his knees and arms. He feels so heavy, all his limbs are sore because of staying in the same position in the wooden floor of the kitchen for too long. Jefferson extends his arm, gently taking one of the crystalline fragments. The cold crystal slices his hand, but Jefferson ignores the pain and continues to pick up the sharp pieces, standing on his knees, as his blood mingles with the spilled wine.

He's drunk. In pain, grief and expensive alcohol. It is pathetic, isn't it? To mourn someone who is alive and breathing? But his mind and heart say otherwise. The throbbing pain is so _real_ and _present_ in his chest, he can't ignore it. He's physically and emptionally ill. He lost his lover, surely not to death, but to oblivion. _He should have paid attention_. It's his fault.

It's his fault that Alexander got in the car with him.

It's his fault that Alexander was lying in that hospital bead, with an induced coma because the pain was too much for his body to bear. He stayed there, unable to breathe for his own. Unable to open his eyes, to talk. To live.

It's his fault that Alexander lost his memory.

It's his fault that his lover is gone.

 _It's his fault._

 _ **His fault.**_

He tries to contain his pain, but a sob makes its way out of his throat, and he finds himself unable to stop the shrieking sobs that emerge from his core. And the tears, that were threatening to slip through his closed eye lids, are now falling like rivers across his cheeks.

He stares absently at the green walls of his kitchen, the soft color screaming _Alexander, Alexander, Alexander_. He brings his hands to his face, covering his eyes so he can't see the color of the walls. He tries to block everything around him, the sounds, the smells, his sight, everything. He tries really hard, but the taste of blood in his mouth never leaves. Everything is so _clear_ around him.

He _screams._

Jefferson feels the department door open and the sound of frantic steps. He can tell that the person who irrupted is looking desperately for something or, in this case, for someone. He doesn't process the sound of his name resonating through the apartment, but the loud gasp behind him is unmistakable. Thomas feels a pair of arms pulling him. He gives in, and tries to stand. Letting go of his phone. He didn't know that he was clutching the device. He turns the screen and sees Madison's ID. A finished call.

Thomas looks up and meets his best friend's worried face. The tender man embraces him silently, and Jefferson snuggles into James' chest. And lets the river flow.

* * *

"Look at that," Alex immediately recognizes the voice, turning to the door just in time to see Hercules opening the room's door with a smile plastered on his face, "the sleeping beauty decided to wake up! I wonder _who_ gave you the kiss of True Love!"

Alexander laughs halfheartedly, immediately thinking of Jefferson. The memory of Jefferson's crying face is carved in his mind, and a pang of worry makes his way into his chest. He tries to brush off the feeling and smiles at his friend. However, Alex's smile wavers when he sees Lafayette crossing the threshold, a smile in his lips and a smiling Laurens trailing behind him with a duffel bag in his hands. Lafayette looks just like Thomas, except for his hairstyle. Lafayette pulls his hair on a pigtail, sometimes a man bun or a braid, while Jefferson lets his curly hair wild and – _why does he even know this?_

"Mon petit lion, ça va?" Alex's change of humor doesn't go unnoticed by Lafayette, who approaches his bed, looking worriedly at Hamilton, and takes his arm carefully. The Frenchman sits in the chair beside the bed –which wasn't there before, and Alex suspects that a nurse entered at some point without him noticing –with Hamilton's hand between his own. "You seem quite sad."

"Je vais bien." It's not true, but Hamilton is stupid enough to lie at his friends. "I'm just tired, there's nothing to worry about."

They know is a lie. He sees it in their faces. They know him perfectly. Lafayette sighs but smiles afterwards, letting the lie slide. Alexander is grateful, but feels bad about it. Still, he is too afraid of how they might react if he tells them about what happened yesterday, besides, Hamilton supposes that they are unaware of his…condition. Alexander is not ready to tell them, he can't even grasp his head around the fact that he can't remember anything about the past five years. And he's definitely not ready to see his friends' faces after the revelation. It was more than enough when Jefferson became aware of it –and they're not even friends, _they hate each other_.

"Alex, there's a lot to worry about," Lafayette smiles warmly at him. Hercules and John nod behind him. John leaves the duffel on the couch and gives a thumbs up to Lafayette, who doesn't notice because he's still looking at Alexander, "but we are here with you."

Hamilton smiles, and asks, "What is that?"

"Your change of clothes, mon ami."

"But, aren't I supposed to stay here until the end of the week?" Hamilton asks with amusement.

"Yeah, but like Mexican people say, 'más vale prevenir, que lamentar.'" John winks at him.

"Muchas gracias, guys." Alexander says warmly at them.

Laurens approaches the hospital bed excitedly, and Hamilton can see how badly his friend wants to hug him. Hamilton takes Laurens' arm and pulls him towards him, feeling warm and giddy. He snuggles John's neck and smiles, the other man embracing him with fervor.

When the guy lets him go, Hamilton looks carefully at his friends, taking in their presence. Alex notices that they seem older, and they look different from how he remembers them. Lafayette left his hair a little longer and he's taller, while Hercules is almost the same height he was five years ago his hair shorter and covered with a bandana. John's freckled face is even more freckled than before, and he grew up a fair pair of inches. Although, their smiles are the same.

Hercules leans on the wall and looks mischievously at him, "Did you saw Jefferson today?" at Alexander's affirmation he smiles widely. "That's great, Alex, Thomas was really worried for you, you know? He came every day to visit you."

"Oh, mon cher, always looking for you," Lafayette grins proudly. "Sometimes he even slept here, and still went to work the next day."

Alex is dumbfounded. Why would Jefferson come to visit him? Were they friends? Okay, that was just –just plain outrageous. He and Jefferson, as _friends_? Jefferson worrying over _him_?

"I'm actually surprised that he's not here," Laurens says, and takes a seat on the large –and ugly, Hamilton notices –couch.

"He, uh, he left in the morning. He said something about having to go to work." Alexander hesitates at first, but ends up lying for the second time that day.

Hercules also sits in the couch, taking place beside John, "Also, make sure to call your father. He's so worried about you."

"Yeah, it was really difficult to convince him to go to work today!" John groans. "Damn, he has a whole college to worry about. But still, he said he was passing by in the evening."

 _A whole college?_

"Well," Lafayette says, a bit harsh, "maybe Principal Washington would be _happier_ after seeing his son."

And okay. He didn't see that coming. Principal Washington? His father finally acquired that position? He probably felt so proud about his father the day he took his place as Principal in Kings College. But the sadness downs on him, and the awareness that he doesn't remember the day fills his heart, making it clench painfully.

"Yeah dude, Washington is worried sick about you," Lafayette says calmly, "after what happened with Martha." Lafayette sighs, looking absently. "It's been rough for him, seeing you in a hospital bed, unable to wake up…"

Hamilton swallows the knot in his throat. What happened to his mother? He turns to see Lafayette worriedly. Is she okay? She _has_ to be okay. Maybe she's sick? She always gets sick around this time of the year. Because, well, is December, who doesn't get sick around this time of the year? Hamilton looks at the calendar hanging from the wall. July. It's the middle of July.

"What happened to Martha?" He asks, fear expanding through his veins.

His friends stare at him, their eyes wide open.

"Alex…," Lafayette speaks carefully to him, like a child who's about to reveal a secret. He looks at Alexander like he's seeing a boy, not a man. Like he might break at any second. "You…don't remember what happened?"

Shit. Oh, _shit_. _No, no, no_. He shakes his head slowly, and he can see the exact millisecond the implications of the affirmation he just made dawns on his friends. Their faces are a mix of surprise and sadness.

John stands up, and walks slowly towards him. Standing in front of his bed, Laurens looks at him with glazed eyes, "Alex, she –she passed away months ago."

 _Oh._

"Alex –"

Alexander is aware that the beeping of the monitor that calculates his heart rate going way too fast, "Don't worry, just –I just wasn't expecting it." He swallows, his throat aching painfully. The throbbing headache is back. "I think –I think I should rest."

Lafayette looks hurt at the sudden dismissal, but nods nonetheless. He kisses Alexander on the cheek and stands up from his seat. Hercules also follows and hugs Alex briefly. John just kisses him on the cheek, telling him that if he needs anything, they're just one call away.

And then, they leave the room silently, closing the door behind them.

Alex cries himself to sleep.

* * *

Once outside the room Lafayette's ringtone breaks the uncomfortable silence between the three friends. John is sitting on the floor, not a single tear on his face, while Hercules' is a crying mess. None of them expected it. Yes, maybe a few broken bones, a bruised rib, not _this_. _Definitely not this._

Lafayette silently retrieves his phone from his pocket, closing his eyes he answers the call.

"Gilbert." Madison's agitated voice greets him. Lafayette is suddenly on alert.

"James, is everything okay?" _Oh God, please have mercy on us._

"No, Thomas…"

 _No._ Lafayette covers his mouth, "Mon Deiu, is he okay?! What happened?!"

Hercules and Laurens turn to him abruptly, their faces contortioned in worry. Their whole attention are centered on him, but his is on the man in the other side of the line.

"He is now," Madison sighs soundly on the other side of the line. Lafayette can hear the faint sound of his movements. He suspects Madison is cooking something, by the sound of the stove. "Today is a bad day."

"How bad?"

"I –I found him drunk, lying on the kitchen floor surrounded by broken pieces of glass." He hears Madison swallow, and the faint sound of a quiet sob. "He had cuts on his hands, he –he"

"Shh, it's okay James. Lafayette closes his eyes, in an attempt to ignore the image of Thomas forming in his mind. "Did he took his medicines?" He hears John suck in breath from his place on the floor.

"I don't know, Gil."

"Okay, I'll be there in a few minutes."

"I'll wait here, then."

* * *

The Schuyler sisters come to visit him in the evening, already aware of Hamilton's state. Even though Alexander doesn't remember them, he is pleased with their visit. Elizabeth caught Alexander's attention. The girl seem really woeful, she has to leave the room for a few moments. And when she comes back inside, Alexander doesn't miss the red color of her eyes. Alexander feels so helpless.

The whole evening is spent in a really nice way. Alexander is the one making the questions, so he doesn't end up overwhelmed by all the information in one sit, and his friends are eager to answer. He was caught up on Peggy's constant jokes, Eliza's shyness, and Angelica's stories from when they met. The girls light up his day and he thanks every God that they didn't mention Jefferson in the whole evening, because, honestly, it is a matter he doesn't want to deal at the moment –or any moment, at all. Their presence last until late that night, leaving Alexander with a warm feeling.

Woah! Another 2k words! I actually feel proud of myself 3 I hope you liked it guys, gals and non-binary pals! I already have a schedule, the fic will update every Wendsday at night, maybe between seven and midnight. Tell me you opinions about the fic. Am I using too much dascription or it lacks? Is it too rushed or not?

I wanted to make Washington the President but I know shit about USA politics so I made him the Principal of Kings College, the College where Alexander studied. Also, Thomas is Lafayette's cousin, cuz why not? And, yes, the Washingtons are Alexander's adoptive parents.

* * *

Well, beans, this has been a hell of a ride! I'm exited about this fic! If you have an idea or headcanon for this story (or anything) please send it to me on my Tumblr i-party-like-it-is-1776! Fanart is welcome 3! Thank you for your support and love!


	5. Chapter 4

Jefferson comes by every day the first week. The man is always gloomy, and is utterly obvious how hard he tries to hide it behind that fake smirk and witty retorts. Alexander is quite surprised that the southern stopped wearing that hideous magenta suit that he used to wear in college whenever he wanted, changing it for a simple pair of jeans and well-worn shirts. The bags under Jefferson's eyes are always pronounced, and he always arrives at the same hour at the hospital with a warm coffee cup in his hands.

Alexander always tries to ignore the bandages that cover Jefferson's hands. He is pretty sure that they weren't there the day he woke up. The man looked perfectly fine the first day, maybe a little tired, but fine nonetheless. Now, he seems like a dead man walking.

Hamilton tells himself not to worry over the man. He is his enemy, isn't he? He's not sure. Jefferson doesn't seem to hate him anymore, and that puts him in an unsure stance. He doesn't know when the man is going to say something bitter to him. And he is sure that eventually one of them is going to explode.

Jefferson attempts conversation several times with Hamilton every time he spends the day with him, but the attempt always ends, because they run out of things to say. Every time the southern stays in the room for more than an hour, the place's tension grows with the unsaid things to each other. It stresses them both, but Jefferson never seems to want to leave. Hamilton doesn't want to be rude with the man for the first time in his whole life, knowing that this whole situation his fault and that it's hurting them both.

He still doesn't know why Jefferson is hurting, and the man never gives him a clue for the reason. Is frustrating Alexander.

There are days when Alexander wants to be left alone. No visits from anyone, not his friends, not his father, but Jefferson is always the exception. When the southern is in his room, Hamilton feels the need to kick him out and plead him to never come back. But he doesn't act on it. Afraid that he might hurt him more. And keeps an eye on the melancholic man. However, Jefferson ceases coming daily, and suddenly stops altogether the next week. Alexander feels a pang of worry every time he spends the day without knowing what or how is doing Jefferson.

* * *

Thomas sits on the couch, a book in his hands and the sound of the pot full of water brewing. He is absorbed in his thoughts, reading the same paragraph over and over again in an attempt to forget everything that's happening around him. But the words keep slipping from his mind, like drops of water slipping between his fingers. He tries, oh he really tries to forget everything that happened the past weeks, but the events repeat themselves in his mind. Like a movie in slow motion.

The accident.

The pain.

The light.

The voice.

Everything is _carved_ in his memory.

Since the incident with the bottle, Madison hadn't stop checking on him. The man is in the apartment from day to day, always feeding him and taking care of him. And it's so fucking irritating to be treated like a child. But he says nothing about it. He understands how James is feeling. The poor guy had the luck to see him lying on the floor having a mental breakdown, with his hands covered in blood mixed with wine, and surrounded by broken pieces of glass.

And he _knows_ how it looked for his friend. But no, it wasn't like _that_. And now the Virginian always makes sure that Jefferson takes his medicine.

Jefferson had woken up a few hours after Lafayette arrived, with Laurens and Mulligan on his toes. The three of them had stayed in the apartment with Madison. The French was worried sick, and he only seemed to calm down when he saw that Thomas was okay. Mulligan and Laurens were worried too, after all Thomas was their friend, since-

It hurts to just think about it.

Thomas feels the place beside him in the couch deflate, indicating that someone is sitting. beside him. he doesn't turn around. He can't. everything hurts too much, and he can't handle more pity faces.

"Mon cousin," Lafayette's voice is so warm and full of love, Thomas starts shaking. _God_ , he has to be strong. "How do you feel?"

" _How do you think?_ " Jefferson retorts sharply. And he just knows he hurt his cousin, because the French fucking _flinches_ beside him. Thomas drops the book, and brings his hands to his face. "I'm so- I'm so sorry Gil. I just-"

"Thomas, it's okay." Lafayette takes Jefferson's hands on his and smiles understanding him. "I know you are hurting, but-"

"-you have to remember, my friend," Laurens irrupts Lafayette mid sentence, placing his hand on the Frenchman's shoulder, and smiles at Thomas, "you are not the only one."

"Yea, John's right Thomas," Hercules says half serious and playful, leaning on the wall and also wearing a smile on his face.

Madison sits at Jefferson's other side in the couch, and clearly says, "We have to help each other, guys."

Jefferson nods, and he tries to smile at them, but the smile ends up being a grimace.

* * *

By the end of the second week since he woke up, Alexander Hamilton is ready to go home. Well, not exactly 'home', but something similar. He's already dressed and he packed all his stuff in the duffel bag his friends brought him the first day. When they gave it to him, he made sure to hang his clothes in the closet, mostly because he really didn't have anything else to do in that place. He left his laptop outside, so when the French enters the room Hamilton is lying on the hospital bed watching a movie on Netflix with the laptop on his lap.

"Bonjour, bitch." Lafayette greets him with grin plastered in his face, and a brown and smelly bag of McDonald's in his hands.

Alexander puts his laptop aside, with caution so he doesn't hurt his broken arm, and stands up from the bed. He hugs Lafayette who, after leaving the bag on the table beside Hamilton's bed, embraces the tiny immigrant with force.

"Bought you McDonald's, mon ami." Says the French excitedly, and takes the brown bag to give it to Hamilton. Since the Frenchman came to America, he has been excited about 'the American gastronomy', and right after he tasted the 'greasy heart attack', he had been delighted with it.

"Thanks Gil," Hamilton takes the bag and sits down in the bed. He waves at Lafayette to join him, and they both sit together in the uncomfortable bed.

"How you've been, Alexander?" Lafayette asks, snatching a fry from Alex.

"Better, I guess," Hamilton shrugs and bites his hamburger, moaning at the delicious flavor flooding his senses. Damn, that hospital food was horrible.

Lafayette turns to him, rising an eyebrow.

"Well, I mean. I still have a headache and a broken arm," Alexander declares and raises his arm to prove his point.

"And let's not _forget_ your memory loss," Lafayette pushes Hamilton playfully, earning a chuckle and a playful glare from the immigrant after he almost lets his hamburger fall to the floor with the sudden push.

"Okay, that was funny! But…"

"Too soon?"

"Too soon."

They both laugh again.

"So, you're the one who's bailing me out?" Alex bits his hamburger, then looks inside the bag to check if there's still some fries left.

"First of all, this is not a prison Alexander," Lafayette rolls his eyes at Hamilton, who mutters something similar to 'It felt like it was' under his breath and earns another push from the Frenchman, "Second. Kind of? I mean, I don't exactly have a car to drive you to your apartment-

 _His apartment?_

-so Washington is going to pick us up."

"Uh, okay. That's fine by me." Alexander shrugs, still confused. _His apartment?_ Well he'll have to see that thing. And he wonders if having an apartment is as great as he had imagined.

* * *

Washington is talking with Dr. Franklin when they get out of the room, they look at them when they appear in the room. Lafayette is carrying Alexander's duffel bag because 'Alex, you're hurt', 'Alex, your arm is broken' and 'ALEXANDER HAMILTON GIVE ME THE FUCKING DUFFEL BAG', so Alexander pleases him by just carrying his computer case, hanging in on his shoulder.

Washington goes to greet Hamilton warmly, and Alexander can't help but smile at the sight of his father.

"You look better, son," George says with a small smile on his face, his open arms inviting him to an embrace.

"Yeah, and I feel better," Alexander doesn't hesitate before he hugs his father.

Lafayette keeps himself from hugging the man too. George seems a lot better now that Hamilton is out of the hospital, but Gilbert can see how tired the man is. Deep inside he wonders if there's anything he could do for the man.

Lafayette feels his phone ringing in his pocket, he quickly takes it out and sees John's ID flashing in the screen. He has two messages from him.

 **John** _: hey hows it going :D_

 **John:** _sorry i couldnt be there_

 _ **Moi**_ _: It's fine, so far. Washington is taking us to Alex's apartment._

 **John** _: you sure thats the right thing to do :|_

 _ **Moi**_ _: What do you mean?_

 **John** _: thomas :/_

 _ **Moi**_ _: Oh, well. We'll see then._

 **John** _: hows alex :)_

 _ **Moi**_ _: He's better. I bought him McDonald's :D_

 **John** _: i knew u would laf lol_

Lafayette smiles.

"We can go now," says Washington as he finishes signing the papers the Doctor handed him, then he turns to the man, "It was nice to see you Ben, but I wish it was under other circumstances."

"Me too, my friend," Dr. Franklin pats George on the back. Lafayette is surprised. Almost no one is allowed to touch Washington. Just his son and closest friends.

"Thank you for everything." George smiles at Dr. Franklin.

They say their goodbyes and then they head out of the hospital in silence.

* * *

Traffic is almost non-existent when they leave the hospital. However, the weather, which has been disastrous for the last few weeks, is a bit pleasant. The clouds that are looming in the skies are of a slight grayness, giving the warning that it will probably rain that night.

Alexander is in the back of the car, the music that comes out of the radio is too cheerful and moved for his taste at that time. He is rather curious about the drastic change of style and genre in music, which is so different from the music he used to hear just five years ago. Hamilton knows that it will take him some time to adapt to these changes. His body is bigger than he remembers, and even if he didn't grow up that much it feels a little strange in him. His voice also changed, as his vision deteriorated a lot. Probably for staying up too late on his computer working, or because of the lack of sleep, or food. Yes, he does know himself. So he is sure he did that.

Everything changed, everything is different now. He feels like a stranger occupying the place of a person completely unknown to him.

He remembers the first time his father came to visit him after he had woken up from the coma he was induced in. Hamilton was really surprised at how old the man seemed. Five years shouldn't make a big difference, but Alexander is painfully aware that _it is_.

They lost Martha Washington a few months before Alexander's accident. And as he has forgotten what happened, his father had offered to tell him about her illness. Alex knew how it would hurt him to remember, so he had tried to stop him. But his father denied his petition, alleging that Alexander deserved to know.

It made him feel horrible. He was sure his father was hurting badly. He could see it in the man's eyes, in the was his slurred words seemed to come out of his mouth with a great effort just to explain the reason Alexander had to know it. In the way Washington looked at him like he was what's left of his world.

He felt nauseous when his father started. He became aware of everything happening around him. He had listened to his father's voice breaking every few words. He felt like he was remembering everything that happened in that moment. But no. There weren't memories coming back. Just his hurt mind making him believe that it was a memory rather than a brand new story that he was hearing from his father's lips.

Hamilton doesn't remember his mother's funeral, or even her last moments. And it fucking hurts to be passing through this again. As a child, Hamilton had lost his biological mother to a strange illness. Rachel Faucette was a great woman and mother, and he loved her. But losing Martha...it only made his life ten times worse.

Now has a new wound, and so has his father. He'll make sure that they both can heal.

Alexander decides to use his phone as a distraction from his mind. He pulls it out, hoping that any of his friends are online. The phone's screen lights up for the first time in a month asking for the password. _Fan-fucking-tastic._

Another problem added to his _long_ list.

* * *

Sup, beans? Another 2k ready to go! I hope you liked it, and if you did plese live a review! THE FEED MY POOR LITTLE SOUL! Also, check out my Tumblr _i-party-like-it-is-176_ ! I'm working on other stuff there that maybe I'll publish here too! And thanks to my lovely beta, I love you sweetie!

Also, I don't have a schedule for the updates, so it might be days or weeks in between chapters. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Thanks for reading! Until next time!


	6. Author's Note

Hey, beans!

Okay so, I decided to rewrite this story from the start. I'm having trouble with the plot and characterizations, and this won't let me continue. I am, by no means, leaving this story unfinished! Writing is really difficult, specialy since English isn't my first language. The story will be uploaded under the name "Enamorarte Otra Vez" ("Fall In Love Again") during vacations, because I'm graduating in a few weeks and I have a lot of projects and things to get done.

I hope that you understand.


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